


Everything Stays

by Bryellii



Category: South Park
Genre: Hurt/Comfort, M/M, One Shot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-28
Updated: 2018-07-28
Packaged: 2019-06-17 13:59:21
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,369
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15462951
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Bryellii/pseuds/Bryellii
Summary: In which Clyde isn't sure how to cope with the sudden loss of the people he cares most for.





	Everything Stays

**Author's Note:**

> Semi-based off of [this](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=oTsEX5IqKxk) (moreso the audio, and not the actual storyboard)

Tapping his fingers impatiently on the chain that held up the swing, Clyde looked back when he heard footsteps behind him, only to find his mom. He grinned brightly when he saw her approach him, a small box resting in the palms of her hands. The boy hopped off the tire swing, shaking the branches of the tall oak tree that had been planted there ages ago.

Betsy crouched down so she could be face-to-face with her son, smiling softly back at him. “Hey, hunny,” she said, “I made these for you.” The lid to the box was taken off, and inside were two layers of what seemed to be yellow wafers. Clyde blinked and picked one up, studying it. “What is it?” He asked, looking back up at his mother.

“Lemon bars. Oma used to make them for me when I was younger,” she said, watching as Clyde finally bit into the square. Her hands fidgeted while she waited for some sort of reaction. When the first one was finished, there was a long pause, and Betsy felt a little insecure about the idea. But then Clyde reached for a second and a third, then a fourth. When he went to grab a fifth, she had to pull the container away and put the cover back on. She didn’t want him to spoil his dinner.

“Ma?”

“Yes, Clyde?”

“Can you teach me how to make them?”

Betsy smiled and took Clyde’s hand in hers. “Of course, sweetie,” she said, leading him back into the house.

They spent the entire day baking, and by the time he had to go to bed, Clyde had managed to perfect his mom’s recipe for lemon bars. Betsy kissed him on the cheek after tucking him in, then shut off the light and closed the door to his room.

 

Four years later, Clyde would have never expected to be sitting in the funeral home, his mother’s body laid in the coffin right in front of him. He didn’t speak, lost to his own thoughts.

It was his fault. He murdered his own mother. And it was all because of such a stupid reason. His friends tried everything, but he told them all to fuck off after the whole Jimmy incident. He hated that he tried to make it funny, and even Butters joining in was just far too much for him to handle.

His suit was too tight on him, but he paid no mind to it, staring down at his dress shoes to attempt to take his mind off of everything. He wanted to cry, but he couldn’t. The reservoir had dried up, so there was no water left to break down the dam. He felt Craig behind him, trying to gain his attention. Clyde only ignored him. He never ignored Craig.

 

In middle school, Clyde started to stray from the other kids. He didn’t get to hang out with Craig as often, mainly because he was so preoccupied with his boyfriend Tweek. Jimmy left the friend group altogether, preferring to hang out with his best friend Timmy. Token and Jason had gained a lot more popularity when they finally reached 8th grade, and sat with the jocks and cheerleaders at their table.

Stan and his friends adopted him into their group, but Clyde couldn’t stand Cartman’s teasing, and Butters’ assholeness was getting to be far too much for him to handle. Everyone silently agreed to never bring up the topic of Betsy Donovan unless Clyde decided to talk about her. He often baked lemon bars to help keep her memory alive and brought a few for his friends to share, all of which would compliment him on how good they were. The brunet then commented on how his mom made them so much better than he ever could, and then the topic would move on- usually because Cartman would make a snarky remark and Kyle would scold him for it.

By that time, Clyde would usually realize that nobody really cared much for stories about him and his mother. He’d slip away for the bathroom, and nobody noticed he was gone.

 

In highschool, Clyde had lost a lot of his original weight. He still wore baggy clothes, though, so nobody would notice. He still played the sports he enjoyed, and maintained his love for them, but he had been rejected from the football team due to how much he now weighed.

Instead, he tried out for the baseball team. He had an incredible throw, but not so much of a swing. Rarely did he ever hit a homerun, but at the same time, he rarely ever struck out. He was a pretty average batter, and only ever managed to get a hit on the second strike. He always made it to first base, whether it be by hitting the ball or being hit by the ball.

The only person who showed at his games was himself.

 

During his senior year, Clyde heard news of Craig and Tweek breaking up. He had no clue why, since the couple were always so loving to one another.

It was the final game, and South Park had stayed undefeated all the way throughout the entirety of the season. Clyde was up to bat; three balls and one strike. He took a practice swing, then stepped back up to home plate, tapping once, twice on the plastic with his trusty wooden bat. The pitcher threw, and the baseball went right past the plate and into the catcher’s mitt. Ball four.

The catcher threw to the pitcher, who readied himself and fixed his glove while Clyde took another practice swing. But then his brown orbs met with green ones that were in the bleachers. Clyde’s breath caught in his throat. Craig Tucker had decided to come to the game.

He stepped up to the plate again, focusing on the ball. It went over the plate, and Clyde swung just a moment too late. Strike two. He was the last batter for the inning, if he’d struck out. The teams were tied, and they needed just one more run to win. If they didn’t make it, then they’d have to play extra innings. Nobody wanted that.

Taking a deep breath, Clyde returned to his stance. The ball was thrown, and the crack that sounded had rung in his ears so loudly that he didn’t notice his coach yelling at him to run. Green eyes flashed as they met brown, and Clyde finally put his body into motion. He ran first, then second. He almost missed third base, but made sure to slow down as he approached, taking care not to trip over the plate, either. He stepped on home and the game was called.

12 - 13, South Park.

The team bounded out to engulf Clyde in a hug and congratulatory pats on the back and slaps to his ass. It was embarrassing to say the least. He was praised for the home run, and the coach promised for an ice cream and pizza party on Saturday.

The crowd around him finally dispersed from around him, and the coach gave them a speech on their fantastic season. Clyde smiled brightly when he was acknowledged, and then they were free to leave.

Clyde was just about to run to the bleachers, but found them to be void of any life. He forced back a frown, and returned instead to his car to drive back home. Could he even call it a home? There was no love or family in it, his dad always being out of the house and his mother no longer on this plain. He hadn’t expected to find Craig leaning against the passenger side door, smoking a cigarette.

Once more did green and brown clash, but the silence between them was short-lived.

“Hey,” Clyde had said, shocked to find his childhood best friend standing in front of him.

“Hey,” Craig echoed, not once looking away from the brunet. His voice was still as monotone as ever, eyes holding no emotions at all.

“What are you doing here?” The brunet asked, trying to not sound offended. Seven years had Craig not spoken a single word to Clyde, and suddenly he just shows up at his final baseball game? Of course he’d be hurt by it.

Craig could only shrug in response, dropping his cancer stick on the ground and crushing it with his heel. “Wanted to see how you were doing, I guess,” he finally said. Clyde broke eye contact.

“Well, I dunno, how are you and Tweek?”

“Bad.”

“Then there’s your answer.”

Clyde sounded much more bitter than he wanted. Maybe it was because the question Craig asked was absurd. How was he doing? He just wanted to roll his eyes at it. Maybe if Craig had tried to hang out with him, then he’d know how Clyde was doing.

He drove off without another word.

 

At age 28, Clyde returned to South Park for his highschool reunion. It was just as expected. Cartman and Kyle were business rivals. Stan and Wendyl had gotten married. Token was about to graduate from law school, and Nichole was expecting their second child. Jimmy was a world-famous comedian and Timmy was his partner. Hell, even Tweek was the CEO of Harbucks now.

Meanwhile, Clyde had devoted his life to baseball. He played for the Yankees, and was one of their better players. But he’d also taken up writing, and had published three different books under a pseudonym. Nobody knew that Clyde Donovan, Yankees shortstop and sometimes pitcher, had written about suicide, closeted homosexualness, and anorexia nervosa.

He’d been catching up with Bebe, who was somehow still single and serving in the military, when he saw someone so familiar out of the corner of his eye, watching them with a blank expression.

Clyde had to excuse himself after he’d heard about how Bebe almost lost her right arm, and sunk back into the crowd to try and get away from the lurking figure. He’d seen him a few times around, but always paid no mind. Craig Tucker was not a friend.

After finally reaching the snack table, Clyde discovered that Craig was there too, waiting for him. He came around the table and slung an arm around the brunet, pulling him close as he directed Clyde out of the room.

“You stick out a lot more than you manage to blend in,” said Craig, who stared straight ahead as the two walked.

“What?” Was Clyde’s intelligent response.

“I can see right through you, dude. I know something’s wrong, and I want to help you.”

Clyde wasn’t entirely sure how to reply to that. He’d made sure that nobody could tell that he had stopped eating so much, had bent over the toilet and stuck his hand down the back of his throat. Hell, he’d even gone as far to hide his pain that he bought spray tan to cover up the scars that littered his arms. They had all faded into his skin, but they were still visible if you looked closely enough.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Yes you do, Clyde. Let me see your arms.”

The tone Craig had was strained and demanding, and when Clyde didn’t obey, Craig shoved him into the wall and forcibly grabbed the shorter man’s wrists himself. The jacket sleeves that covered up his arms were pulled back and Craig leaned in to inspect the skin, finding small white lines all over. He didn’t look up at Clyde when he said: “Why.”

Clyde knew immediately that it wasn’t a question, it was a demand. There would be no way that he’d get out of this one.

He really didn’t want to tell Craig anything. After all, they hadn’t been friends for 18 years.

But tears pricked the corners of his eyes and he fell into Craig’s chest, arms loosely wrapping themselves around the noirette’s neck as he sobbed and blubbered about everything; starting with his mom and ending with only the month previous, when his last suitor had decided that marriage would be far too much and dumped Clyde on the spot. He’d tried to hang himself.

Craig listened as best as he could, and when Clyde finished, he leaned forward to press a chaste kiss to the corner of the other’s lips. Clyde agreed to go out with him, even though he knew that his heart wasn’t ready.

 

At age 34, Craig finally decided to pop the question: “Will you marry me?”

Clyde didn’t react negatively, but he didn’t react positively, either. Craig had almost panicked, wondering if he asked too soon or had done something to make Clyde not love him.

Clyde decided that he needed time to think on it.

 

One year later while over dinner, Clyde had finally made up his mind.

“Yes.”

“What?”

“Yes, I will marry you, Craig Tucker.”

Craig took Clyde home that night and loved him.

 

At 38 years old, Clyde had found himself in a hospital bed.

His body was failing him due to all the years of neglect. He was hooked up to monitors and tubes, each trying its hardest to try and keep him alive and stable. Craig was right beside him, holding his hand the whole time.

38 years old was how old Clyde lived to be.

 

When he had reached the Heavenly plain, Clyde was expecting to be greeted with trumpets and a golden gate.

Instead, he’d discovered an endless sea of knee-high water. There was nobody in sight. He walked for some time, trying to find some way out. Eventually, he stumbled upon stairs that only led upwards. With haste, Clyde made his way to the very top, and was shocked when he found none other than his own mother.

He ran to her, engulfing her in his arms and crying tears of joy. He never thought that he’d get to see her again.

 

Only two years later had Craig joined them, his smoking habit finally catching up to him. Clyde had ran to him, peppering the taller man’s face with kisses. He pulled back, staring up at Craig when he said:

“Hey Craig, want a lemon bar?”

**Author's Note:**

> I'm forever damned to write these two as a hurt/comfort relationship.
> 
> Oma = Grandmother


End file.
